


Tickles and All

by GoodOldBaz



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), Poirot - Agatha Christie, Poirot - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Kisses, Old Married Couple, Shippy, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 07:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18177773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodOldBaz/pseuds/GoodOldBaz
Summary: A brief glimpse into what might have been.





	Tickles and All

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is my guilty pleasure!

Hercule Poirot rolled over in bed. As he opened his eyes to see the woman who lay beside him he smiled to himself. He had been married for no longer than 48 hours, and even though the sun was well up, he had no intentions of getting out of bed. The steady in and out of the lady’s breathing told him she was still asleep. He breathed in deep the smell of her perfume, which still hung strongly in the air even though it had been administered the night before for a party. While many found the Countess Vera Rossakoff’s – or rather, Poirot’s – makeup and perfume choices to be rather excessive, her husband liked them immensely. Her husband. Poirot mulled that word over in his head. Husband. That’s what he was, a husband. At an age so high he would not even speak it aloud, he was finally a husband. Although he’d never admitted it to anyone, this was truly a thing he’d longed for most in his life. And though he knew he would never have a family, or even marriage, like most people had, this was enough for him – more than enough. Vera by his side and her son, who called him Papa. He’d never been happier in his life.  
He leaned forward a little and kissed his wife’s cheek. She stirred a little and rolled over to face him. Her eyes flickered open, beautiful eyes he thought, and looked into the bright, cat-like eyes of Hercule Poirot.  
“Good morning, my love,” she murmured in her native tongue.  
“Bonjour, Madam Poirot,” he smiled gently.  
“Mmm,” she sighed. “Madam Poirot. And Count Poirot!” she laughed.  
Poirot smiled. “I do not know that it works that way, ma chere.”  
She smiled back at him. “No, but you may find, my little man, that I call you that now and then.” She reached out a finger and touched his nose. “Just for fun.”  
“If it makes you happy,” he replied. “I do not protest.”  
The Countess leaned forward and kissed him, then leaned back, making a funny face. He looked at her with questioning eyes.  
“What is it?” he asked.  
“Your mustaches, Hercule, they tickle my face.”  
“Ah,” Poirot gave a little shrug, a twinkle in his eyes. “Then perhaps, Poirot, he must not kiss you any longer.”  
With a grin he sat up and turned away from her, sliding his feet over the edge of the bed. The grand lady flung her arms around her husband’s shoulders and pulled him back a little.  
“That,” she smiled, nuzzling her cheek against his, “It is by no means acceptable.”  
He turned around a little and touched her face with his big brown hand. “Then you, Countess, you will allow Poirot to kiss you, the tickles and all?”  
Across her face flashed an impish smile. And so they kissed, tickles and all.


End file.
